Come Home
by ThexInvisiblexGirl
Summary: So what happened after Scully opened the door? Post episode for Plus One, please R&R!


This one has taken me a ridiculously long time to complete – I'm really _that_ rusty as far as fanfiction is concerned. Originally written after Plus One was aired, I was trying to put the events into sequence with the information given to us in episode 2 about Scully supposedly moving back in. In a review I read, someone suggested that episode 3 was supposed to be aired before episode 2, and I tend to agree because it makes more sense relationship-wise, so this oneshot sort of reflects that. Also, there are currently four more episodes to go, and so this oneshot is true to this moment in the season. Knowing Chris Carter, this entire piece will be completely inaccurate by the time the season wraps!

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 **Come Home**

She walks slowly yet decisively towards the door, hesitating only momentarily before she reaches for the doorknob and twists it. She isn't really surprised to find him on the other side, leaning against the doorframe with the tiniest smirk across his face. He can make fun of her all he wants; he certainly carries some of that afterglow himself.

"Forgotten something?" he asks, his grin widening ever so slightly.

She knows he can read her intentions in her stare, but she's unable to look away. His hazel eyes are misty, seductive. It could be merely the lack of sleep; somehow she knows it isn't that. "In a manner of speaking," she replies timidly.

"Want me to check under your bed for your double?" There's a glimmer in his eyes as he asks it; he clearly knows she's more than capable of protecting herself.

"I was thinking more along the lines of a kiss goodnight."

"Oh." He tries to conceal the fact he's taken aback, just like he's done when she asked him to hold her earlier, but she knows him too well. She raises one eyebrow, a wordless challenge. "Sure," he says with just the slightest hint of hesitation, as though they haven't done much more than kiss mere hours before.

Then it is as if the same realization crosses his mind as well. He chuckles softly, then leans towards her. Even after all those years it astounds her, the way her heart stills at the nearness of him. His palm fits perfectly between her temple and the back of her neck. The warmth emanating from his body is intoxicating. She can actually feel it, charging the air between them. For a moment she wishes she could take back her request.

The kiss he lays on her forehead is reminiscent of the kisses he has given her in their early days as partners, before everything has gotten so damn complicated. She closes her eyes and pretends they're back in the hallway in his dingy apartment building in Alexandria, before the bee and Antarctica and all hell breaking loose. While somewhat relieved that he hasn't aimed for her lips, she can't say she isn't disappointed, as well.

Even as he pulls away he hovers close, as though he, too, is unable to stay away. His hand remains warm against her neck. Her eyes flutter open and she peeks up to meet his dark stare. Knowing where it has previously gotten them, she looks away first, but he puts the tiniest amount of pressure against her skin, forcing her eyes back on his. This time she doesn't resist. It seems only fair; she's the one opening his door, not the other way around. She wants to say something, to tease him about the kiss, but then he leans closer still, and her lips meet his halfway.

Muscle memory kicks in as urgency takes over. This kiss is different than any of the ones they have shared earlier; frenzied, less tender. As he crushes her against his chest, one of her arms wraps itself around his neck; the other claws at his shirt to pull him closer. The words she has meant to utter are forgotten; the only sound in the room is whispery kisses, their labored breathing, an occasional gasp.

"That bed nice and comfy?" he whispers, trailing kisses along her neckline, as he slowly stirs them further into her side of the door. She wants to acknowledge the fact she remembers him asking the exact same thing a few nights ago, but she can barely speak her own name as his lips nuzzle her neck, then linger on her pulse point. Blindly, she unbuttons his shirt, then peels it off his chest. He struggles with her black jacket. They nearly topple over the edge of the bed as she reaches between them to help him. Then their lips meet once more, and she gives in to sensation completely.

After, they lay on their sides facing one another. The room is dark, swimming in pre-dawn shadows. There's a small, weary smile on his lips, and she knows it mirrors her own. She fights sleep with all her might. She just wants to keep looking at him. She isn't sure if it's the moonlight that makes her so sappy, but she can't help old sentiments from surfacing. He's all opposites, she muses. He's both her darkness and her light, her despair and her hope, her destructor and her savior. It's too vast a concept to make sense of at the moment. It is astounding that after all those years, he is still all of those and more.

Serenity washes over her. Now that the case is closed and Judy is dead, it is as if her uncertainties are all gone. She is no longer wary of what might happen when they're older, when they retire. The possibility of Mulder meeting someone else, wanting to start a family with someone else, becomes as slim as it has been since the moment their partnership has blossomed into something more. She realizes now how silly that conversation has been, how pointless. They can't escape one another even if they've tried. Their lives are too intertwined.

"Move back in."

At first she thinks she has imagined it. The night plays tricks on a person; goodness knows she's in the right state of mind for that to be the case. Her eyelids are heavy; she must have drifted off to sleep despite herself. She forces her eyes open again to find his gaze imploring. He doesn't say anything else, but the ghost of the words lingers between them.

"What?"

"I've been thinking. Those seizures of yours a few weeks back, that man who tried to… I don't know whom to trust and I want to be able to… No, that's not it." He sighs, then shakes his head, as though he realizes he doesn't make much sense. He locks his gaze with hers as he starts over. "I miss you, Scully."

"I miss you too," she whispers. She has not intended them to, but the words just slip. As always, his nearness weakens her. "But you know why I – "

"I know," he cuts her off gently. "But I'm better. I've been taking better care of myself. If this is what you're worried about, if this is the thing that brings you back home, I'll…"

"Don't make promises you don't know you can keep," she protests, having been in the exact same place with him before. What's left of her sappiness quickly dissipates. His most recent bout with depression was the darkest point in their relationship, the thing that drove her away eventually; for his sake, as well as for hers.

"Look, I just don't think it's right for you to be alone right now. Your mother died less than a year ago. The thing with William, those damn seizures…"

"Mulder, I'm fi – "

"Don't you tell me you're fine," he cuts her off a bit more abruptly, then catches himself and shakes his head. "I know you're capable of looking after yourself, Scully. This is more than me wanting to make sure you're alright." He pauses, as though he isn't sure how to go on. Then he reaches for her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I don't know that I can do this whole 'just partners' thing after everything we've been through. More than that, I don't want to. You mean too much to me to get back to square one."

She knows that, but her heart still skips a beat as he says it.

"I know you know what I mean," he adds stubbornly, as though he's misinterpreted her silence as resistance, or denial. "May I remind you that _you_ came to _me_. Twice now."

"Maybe I shouldn't have," she says even though she doesn't truly believe that. Honestly, she isn't sure why she does, why she continues. "Maybe this shouldn't – "

"Shouldn't have happened? Clichés don't become you." He lets go of her hand so he can touch her cheek. She can't bring herself to back away. "Please come home, Scully. Just think about it. That's all I ask."

She isn't used to seeing him so vulnerable. It's somewhat unnerving; he's always been the confident one. She knows she's hurting him by keeping her distance, but she has only done so because he, too, means too much to her. "Maybe…" she says after a moment. "Maybe we need to take this slow."

"What do you mean?"

"We did everything backwards. Even now, this. People usually go on dates before jumping in bed together."

"Normal people, Scully. I think we can agree that ship has sailed decades ago." She rolls her eyes at him and he chuckles. "This is how I like my Scully," he says fondly, and the allusion isn't lost on her. She has told him the same thing not too long ago, at that creepy motor lodge in the middle of Nowhere, Oregon. "I'm not even sure when was the last time I did anything normal," he says then, looking ridiculously contemplative.

"Well, this may be a good place to start."

He considers it. When he looks at her next, he seems almost scared. "You don't expect me to start right now, do you?"

She laughs softly and scoots closer to him, laying her head against his chest. "No, I think it's perfectly fine if we start acting normal after checkout."

"What's a few more hours," he agrees through a yawn as he wraps his arms around her. She feels him drop a kiss into her hair.

"How about that shuteye?" she asks. Her only reply is a soft hum, echoing against her ear. She glances up and smiles. Mulder is already fast asleep; his gentle snores rumble deep in his chest. She cuddles closer. Even in his sleep he holds her tighter. This feels safe, she thinks. Familiar. Like home.

She shifts ever so slightly and winces at the ache in her joints. It reminds her she isn't in her twenties anymore. Even though she's exhausted – by the investigation and their lovemaking – now she cannot sleep. Her mind is too alert, too preoccupied by his request. It's ridiculous, the way three words can obliterate sleep so completely. She knows it's time to come home; has known it for a while. But she doesn't want to be hasty about this. With the whole William thing bubbling back onto the surface, they do need each other, now more than ever, but there are other forces at play. She remembers her visions. She, too, doesn't want Mulder out of her sight. She wonders if they'll ever be free of the darkness.

Different three words come to mind, ones he uttered only once and she dismissed him, thinking he was delirious; ones she has never done. She wonders if they'll ever say the words, but at the same time, she knows it's unnecessary. Otherwise they wouldn't have stuck around each others' at their darkest times.

But she feels the need to say them, just the same. Just this once.

"I love you."

The earth doesn't shake beneath the bed. The world doesn't end. She knows it's cowardly, to say this when he's unaware, but it doesn't matter. She knows he knows. In their own way, they have both said it to one another a dozen times before. In the aftermath of the confession, another opposite comes to mind. He is both her greatest frustration, and her greatest love.

As she lays there, safe and warm in his embrace, she makes up her mind. Despite her previous misgivings and insecurities, her certainty in them is overwhelming. Her head is reeling with plans: leaving her small apartment, reorganizing the farmhouse, maybe convincing Mulder to relocate to a livelier location. She's the one offering they'll take things slow, but suddenly giant leaps sound more appealing than baby steps. She feels a smile finding its way to her lips. She reaches for the comforter to better tuck it around the two of them. As dawn rises over rural Virginia, she closes her eyes. She can finally rest. The decision has been made.

She's coming home.


End file.
